


apple pie

by downthedarkpath



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, M/M, Mild Angst, Songfic, happy endings, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29931261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downthedarkpath/pseuds/downthedarkpath
Summary: They reach midnight. The moon peaks in the sky, and the clouds look like crushed velvet across the horizon. George twists around on the bench and lies back on it, staring up. He hears shuffling, and when he looks across, he can see under the table top and straight into Dream’s eyes.“What are you looking for?” Dream asks him.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 123





	apple pie

**Author's Note:**

> for [logan](https://twitter.com/mshroomcat)
> 
> with lyrics/title/inspo from [apple pie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5PqZ2DLtJWMW) by lizzy mcalpine.

_\----- Some days I'm lonely -----_

George wakes up on a Sunday morning to rain on his window.

He races raindrops down the glass, following them with tired, lonely eyes. He’s alone here, and watching the water leak from his gutter, holding hands with all of its molecules makes his heart ache. Somewhere deep in his left ventricle, he hurts.

His phone is silent. He sits it on his windowsill and leans next to it, waiting for it to light up. There’s nothing. He has one notification, and it’s an alert to update his system. All the colours on his lockscreen are dull and grey.

He pushes his window open. He sticks his hand out of it, holding it under the sky. Water pools in his palm, cold and heavy, lashing like knives in his skin. His cells drown in it. 

George tips his hand to the side, letting the water puddled in the creases of his palm drain out. It’s a fool's errand; and he turns his wrist back to let it pool up and overflow again. It hurts like spires of ice, sharp and relentless.

When he pulls his hand back inside, his palm is red. He wipes it on his thigh, soaking the coldness into his bones. He exhales frost. His universe is quiet.

_\----- How do you make a home? -----_

“I just think you should try and get out a bit more,” Sapnap suggests, quietly.

“I don’t need to get out more. I’m fine.”

“I know you’re fine,” Sapnap says, quickly. George feels the barest stab of guilt at his rushed words. “I just meant that… maybe you’d feel better if you went out. Saw the world, or something. You know? It’s gonna move on and you’ll just be left behind.”

“You won’t leave me behind, though, will you?” George says.

Sapnap sighs. His voice is tired, George can hear it. He thinks about the raindrops racing down his window and squeezes his eyes tight shut. “I won’t. Just, think about it. Okay?”

“I’ll think about it,” George says, and as much as he hates it, he knows it’s a promise.

_\----- I found you under an April sky -----_

He takes Sapnap’s advice. He goes out.

He buys a Sprite from the pub around the corner, and goes out to sit in the beer garden.

No one else is sitting there, mostly because all of the picnic benches are wet through and half rotted in the damp. George can feel it soaking through the seat of his pants, and he closes his hands around the condensation on his bottle to distract from it. He listens to the silence, and the noise of trees growing back their leaves, and he shivers.

“You look lonely out here.”

He looks up and sees a face. It’s features are blurred in the moonlight - shadows deepened and greyed out, cheeks hollowed and eyes drawn gaunt - but he can tell that it’s a beautiful face. In daylight, it would be a beautiful face. He says, “do I?”

The face nods. It sits opposite him, on the otherside of the damp bench, like it doesn’t even care. “My name is Dream. Mind if I give you some company?”

“I don’t mind.”

“Great,” Dream says. His teeth are sharp and pale in the night.

George thinks about his name. He ends up thinking about it for a week after he first hears it. He doesn't think he'll ever forget it.

_\----- Home is wherever you are tonight -----_

George feels himself falling in love with Dream that evening.

He feels his heart stutter - his left ventricle aches and aches and aches when it’s cold, but a fire is lit in his stomach and it’s embers are warm. He finishes his Sprite on the damp bench, and Dream talks for hours.

They reach midnight. The moon peaks in the sky, and the clouds look like crushed velvet across the horizon. George twists around on the bench and lies back on it, staring up. He hears shuffling, and when he looks across, he can see under the table top and straight into Dream’s eyes.

“What are you looking for?” Dream asks him.

“Something nice,” George says. He’s honest. The darkness always makes him truthful, always chips away at his thoughts until he has nothing left to hold onto.

“Like what?”

“Stars,” he says, “the moon. An aeroplane. Just something.”

Dream lifts his arm. He points at something, “there’s a plane there.”

There is, blinking red and white lights above the layer of clouds. George follows it with his eyes until they blur. “Where do you think they were going?” he asks.

“Somewhere new,” Dream suggests. “Somewhere good. Where do you think?”

“Somewhere new,” George agrees. “That sounds nice.”

_\----- And I’ll be fine -----_

“I won’t be able to see you for a while,” Dream says.

His voice is distorted by his phone microphone, and George hates it. It doesn’t settle right in his bones, fits all wrong in his fingertips. He can’t hear Dream breath properly.

“Why not?”

“I’m going away for a bit,” Dreams says, “not for long. But for a bit.”

George sighs. His mouth is bitter, and he swallows bile. It burns in the back of his throat. “Will you be back?”

“I’ll always come back,” Dream says.

“Will you?”

“I promise.”

“Okay,” George whispers. He holds the phone tightly, pressing it against his ear until it hurts. He whispers, “okay,” again, and doesn’t listen to whatever Dream replies with.

_\----- Tryna find a place where I can breathe -----_

“He’ll be back soon,” Sapnap says.

George sighs. There hasn’t been any rain for a few weeks - not since Dream left. It’s like its waiting for him to come back, and George misses it. His window panes are too dry. “I know he’ll be back soon, I still miss him.”

“That’s good.”

“How is that good?”

He sees Sapnap shrug, in the small picture on his phone screen. “I dunno. I guess it shows you just really love him. Maybe it’s a good thing, when you think about it.”

“I feel like he’s taken half of my heart and left without me.”

“Don’t you trust that he’ll bring it home?”

George breathes and breathes and breathes. “I don’t really know.”

_\----- Two rooms with windows -----_

Dream unlocks his front door.

George had given him the spare key for emergencies, for if he forgot to feed his cat or if there was a fire or if Dream ran out of noodles. He’d only had two keys printed, and one of them sat on his keyring.

The other sits on Dream’s. Now, it sits in his front door, with Dream’s own keychain hanging from it.

“I thought you weren’t coming back till next week?”

The TV is half on. It’s on standby, where George had forgotten to turn it off. The blue light floods his living room, drowning Dream in it. His grin is warped in it, and his eyes are set deep in his face, but he looks like he’s finally, finally come home.

“I wasn’t,” Dream says. He takes his key from the door, and then he shuts it behind him. He even takes his shoes off, and tucks them into George’s shoe rack. “But I managed to get an earlier flight. I didn’t need to stay away for any longer. And I’m here now.”

“You’re here now,” George repeats. His words are quiet in the blue light. He reaches his hand out, and it’s like Dream puts his heart back into it.

_\----- And you feel like city life -----_

Dream takes his hand, pulling him across a road.

A car rushes past just before George pulls himself over the curb, splashing the cuffs of his jeans with rainwater, and it’s cold. His skin is warm. So, so warm.

The streetlights are bright, melting orange and red and yellow on the roadside, reflected in the shimmer on the tarmac. George slows in Dream’s hold, halting in the middle of the street.

“Look,” he says.

Dream doesn’t. George feels his eyes on him instead, burning deep into his chest. “Look where?”

“Anywhere,” George replies, “everywhere. Just look.”

He hears Dream’s smile when he speaks, doesn’t need to turn to see it. “I’m looking.”

“Tell me what you see.”

The silence Dream leaves between them is welcome. George listens to the wet drag of cars on damp concrete, listens to rain against metal, listens to the dull splat of it on his forehead whenever he turns his face to the sky.

Eventually, Dream says, “I see something beautiful.”

“What is it?”

“I see something beautiful,” Dream says again. His grip on George’s hand flexes, loose in the darkness, in the rainstorm. “Someone that I love, and will love, for as long as I can. For forever.”

“Forever is a long time,” George warns him.

“Yeah,” Dream agrees. This time, George does look at him. He has no smile, but his eyes are full, bright in the starlight. “It is.”

_\----- Apple pie baked just right -----_

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed this :) this was a lovely song and i really enjoyed writing this. 
> 
> leave a comment and some thoughts if you like, id love to hear them.
> 
> see me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ERR0RGEO)


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